Wednesday's Child
by Spinnd
Summary: There are bad cases, and there are bad cases. And then there are the kind that leave a trail of dead girls in their wake and don't even have the courtesy to mislay a hair. Ensemble piece written in the vein of a CSI:NY episode. Updated, and now complete!
1. 15th November

Disclaimer: CSI:NY is created and owned by Bruckheimer, CBS and the lot. No profit will be made from this.

Warning: Story contains reference to child rape and murder. Rated T.

Acknowledgements:

Wikipedia – _Still_ the fastest source of information for amateur writers like myself.  
CSI: NY Official Site – The CSI handbook at CBS.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

He made his way over to where Flack stood, just by the yellow tape, hands on hips and mouth set in a hard line.

"Body?"

Flack grimaced. "By the rock. Lady there found her this morning when she got a flat - was waiting for the mechanic when she had to, uh, relieve herself."

Mac shot him a dubious look. The younger man shrugged.

"She was about to, behind the rock. But then she saw the body. Promptly freaked out and called us."

"Okay. What do we have on our vic?"

"Girl. Eight, maybe nine years old." His eyes shifted downwards again. "Beaten, most probably raped. Looks like a dump job, but with the rain last night, it'll be hard to tell anything."

Mac and Danny made their way through the overgrown grass. Upon reaching the rock, Mac set up his case on a low shelf while Danny prepped his camera. Holding it up, the younger detective snapped off several location shots, then went around to the back face of the boulder to join Mac.

And on seeing the body, turned quite green.

"You okay with this, Danny?"

"I'm alright," he breathed deep, "I'm alright. Just gimme a minute."

The frown drew deep worry lines across Mac's forehead. He knew a bad case when he saw one. Adjusting the fit of his gloves, he reached for the camera, which Danny handed to him to take over.

"When you're ready."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Got the statement from the lady."

Lindsay's shadow caught his attention when it blocked his line of sight. He looked up at her with a questioning squint.

"You find anything?"

Danny puffed a breath as he sat back on his haunches. "Partial footprints – 10 different types, looks like. Other than that, not so much as a damn hair."

She hunkered down next to him and they both watched as the wrapped body was carried into the ambulance.

"We'll probably know more once Hammerback gets to examine her." He shook his head ruefully. "You ever see this kind of thing back home, Montana? Blood and bruises all over some little dead girl? You had it good back there."

The condescension stung. Her voice was clipped as she got up and looked down at him.

"A lot more goes on in Hick Country than you know, Messer."

She walked off, Danny's gaze following.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Sid unclipped his glasses as he turned to face the approaching detective.

"Twelve hours, I'm estimating. Rigor mortis has set in, and we're seeing almost maximum lividity of the skin around the abdominal area."

"Just last night?"

"Seems to be so. Varied colouring of bruises indicates she's been manhandled more than once over a number of days. An adult, judging by the finger marks. Male most probably, by the force some of these wounds indicate. Superficial lacerations on her face, forearms and knees. Other than that…" his shoulders lifted to imitate a shrug.

"Cause of death?"

He coughed a little. "No signs of strangulation, no visible wounds that could have caused exsanguination. Tox report's yet to come back. But I did find a coating of dust in the inside of her nose and mouth. So I'm going with suffocation."

"You'll know more once you start the internal examination?"

"I'll let you know when I'm done" Sid leaned back, arms folded. The usual spark of curiosity was absent from his face as he stared at the bloodied face sleeping quietly on his autopsy table.

Mac watched stoicism play across his features, noting that it touched everywhere but his eyes, and wisely refrained from commenting when examining hands trembled as they reached for the Stryker saw.

- - - - - - - - - -

They passed each other in the corridor.

"Hey," Stella smiled, and he made an effort to return his.

"Hey. You still working that bridge jumper case?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, Hawkes and I've got it covered."

"Alright. Keep me posted. I'll see you around." Mac attempted to move off, but she caught his arm in a light grip.

"It's two weeks into November. Try and sleep sometime this month? That's not too hard a request, is it?"

Their smirks mirrored each other's as they broke contact and left in opposite directions.

- - - - - - - - - - -

"What do we have, Danny?" The wind whipped around his coat collar and the sky was threatening to rain again.

"Nothing. Nada. Can you believe the luck this bastard has?"

They stood up stiffly. Back at the crime scene again, scouring over the area and checking the surrounding radius for any evidence that the rain might not have washed away, they still found nothing. Nothing of worth at least, it seemed.

Mac shook his head and stared at the darkening clouds.

"We bag everything we find."

Danny's eyes landed on an empty bag of Cheetos. "Everything?"

"Everything."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"Got an ID on our vic. Katherine Leigh Clarke. Parents filed a missing persons on her just two weeks ago."

Lindsay glanced at the two men in front of her, and quickly looked back at the page when she caught Danny's eye.

"Do the parents know yet?"

She took a deep breath. "I, uh, wanted to clear that with you first, Mac. You'd probably be the best person to- to handle this."

The answering frown didn't tell her much. He just mutely took the file from her and uttered a short "thanks" before he and Danny moved off. Their backs turned to her, she could still faintly make out Mac's voice over the noise of the hallway.

"She'd have turned eight this time next month."

**TBC**

A/N:

Had no idea, when I wrote the epilogue to '**Dry Bones'**, that I would expand upon the serial killer case mentioned in there. But here it is, anyhow. Can't remember what I watched/read that inspired this, so if something rings a bell as the story progresses, do let me know so I can give due acknowledgement.

Credits to the writers of every CSI episode, because now I know how insane it is, trying to incorporate a discipline like forensics into a dramatic storyline. So, my apologies if this work falls below standards and loopholes pop up. And per usual: reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated.


	2. 16th November

Sid handed the mass spec report to Mac personally, a strange occurrence given he was hardly ever seen outside his morgue.

"Concrete dust; found in her nose, throat, and lungs. Most part of it cement – calcium silicates, aluminum oxide, iron oxide, the works."

"So we're looking for someone in the construction business."

"Or who lives near a building site. Unfortunately, that hardly narrows it down. Portland cement type one is found everywhere. Most buildings and houses would've had use of it."

Mac sat back, feeling a headache slowly creep up the base of his skull. His hand instinctively reached up.

"Anything else?"

"The cuts on her face? Some were consistent with blunt force trauma, but others were jagged, like those made by sharp rock edges. I found the same dust in those cuts and under her nails. Also, I've lifted off what turned out to be untreated petroleum jelly faintly streaked all over the body."

"Petroleum jelly?"

"All over the body."

Mac nodded his thanks and dismissal. A primary crime scene had been established, somewhat. He supposed that was a start.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Mrs. Clarke was small next to her husband's 6-foot frame, almost vulnerable in her short curls and a smart collared dress. That was the initial impression formed after Mac and Lindsay knocked on their front door and were greeted by the couple.

"Mr. and Mrs. Clarke? We're from the New York Crime Scene Unit. Could we come in? It's about your daughter."

"Kathy?"

Mac noticed their intertwined hands turning white at the knuckles and his heart pushed painfully against his chest.

"Yes, sir."

They led them through into the hall. It was an elegant town house, simple and classic, nothing showy or extravagant; just rosewood panels and abstract art lining the hallways of the house.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Mrs. Clarke asked when they were all seated. It caught Lindsay off-guard.

"Ma'am?"

"I know she's dead. It's always like this," her attempted smile crumbled and tears slipped down her cheeks. "Isn't it, Albert? The police will come in and be all polite when they tell you and say nice things to make you feel better and-"

Her words were cut off when her husband pulled her into his arms, muffling her sobs. Mac and Lindsay shifted uncomfortably in their seats, feeling like intruders witnessing too private a moment.

"Is she? Dead, I mean, is that what you came to tell us?"

Mac slipped the photograph taken on the autopsy table from his coat jacket and handed it to the father.

"Is that your daughter, Mr. Clarke?"

The man held it, staring for a long minute before he crushed it and buried his face behind his fist.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

_No DNA from the rape kit, nothing new from scrapings, no hair found on the vic's body, no blood on her that don't belong to her –_

Danny glumly read over all the 'No's he had jotted down.

"I don't get it," he didn't look up when Mac entered, "How? I mean, he's like some ghost or something."

"He knows what he's doing. Guy this careful…"

"Must be a pro."

"A combination of skill, luck and rain, Danny. Did we get anything on what we bagged from the crime scene?"

Messer laughed weakly. "Loads of prints. Most of them belong to people whose worst crime was getting speeding tickets. Couple of juvvies: shoplifting and pick-pocketing charges to their names but not- hell, nothing of this sort."

He handed the list to Mac, who studied it, carefully hiding his disappointment when he too came up empty on potential leads.

"Wouldn't make sense anyway, Danny. He wouldn't be this careless."

"Figures. So, what now, boss?"

"We keep at it. Her parents should be here soon to give their statement. Tell me if anything unusual shows up in Trace."

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"You'd think it was Times Square, what with the amount of human print traffic we're getting off these plaster casts."

Danny peered over as Adam laid out the castings.

"This one's at least three prints deep," he grumbled lightly, prodding at a mould with the tip of his caliper, "you can hardly make out the individual print patterns."

"Got anything for me?"

"Far as I can tell, seven different people were around that rock, and other than that of the witness lady, all other prints were made before it rained, that much I can say."

Danny held up the cast nearest to him and ran a finger over the overlapping ridges, frowning when he noticed something odd.

"Where was this from?"

Adam checked his notes. "Somewhere equidistant from the road and the body."

"This here's a print over a print. You see how random this one is," he picked up another for comparison, "but here, this guy placed his foot exactly over the other. A size 11 this one, but I can't tell who it belongs to."

"I'll check through the others, see if there's any matching print for this." He strained his eyes and muttered a 'Damn' when he realized the wet mud had shifted and blurred the ridges, leaving him with indistinct prints. Danny saw the problem as well.

"Alright, see if you can extricate the top print from the one below on this, Adam. The rain's gone and messed it up good."

"Will do."

- - - - - - - - - - -

Mac scanned through the same four files late into the night. The seeming lack of evidence was frustrating him more than usual and his headache was back with a vengeance. He sipped at his cup of coffee, grimacing when he tasted the cold flat liquid.

It was half an hour into midnight when his mobile buzzed at his hip. He flipped it open and CallerID read Flack's name on the screen.

"Yeah."

"We've got another one, Mac. I think we could be looking at a serial."

**TBC**


	3. 17th November

Mrs. Eisner sat down and put a hand to her forehead.

"That's terrible," she said quietly. "Her parents must be devastated."

"Mrs. Eisner, did you know of any trouble in the Goldberg home, maybe someone who wanted to harm the family? Any suspicious characters around the school?"

"No, no...none of that sort."

"Are there any eyewitnesses I can speak to regarding the day Natalie disappeared?"

The Head of School shook her head mutely. It was taking a while for her to recover from hearing the news. Mac stuck his hands in his coat pockets and waited patiently.

"Ms. Alvarez had already asked Natalie's classmates, but no one saw anything. You could try again, though even I have enquired myself and… Natalie just seemed to have vanished that day."

"I understand, ma'am."

"Class One's down the end of the hall, on the left. Ms. Paulina Alvarez is their supervisor."

"Thank you."

"Detective Taylor," she stopped him on his way out. "Find the monster that did this to her."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The fact that it was seven in the morning might've been reason as to why the man looked two notches above displeased at being dragged into interrogation.

"Look, I'm not your guy. Just because I've had one record of indecent exposure in the past don't mean I get my rocks off by raping and killing little girls."

"So you say," Danny smirked, and Lindsay fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Mr. Moretti, we're just asking you to explain how you managed to find Natalie Goldberg's body amongst all those trees in Morningside when it was close to midnight."

He fussed under his breath.

"Ey, look. I've got a family now and everything, okay? But with the twins at 18 months, my wife, she's too tired nowadays. Falls asleep the moment she hits the pillows. Guy can't live like that for long, you know?"

He looked to Danny for understanding but the CSI just silently quirked an eyebrow at him.

"So, one night I'm accosted by some girl in a pub. She was nice, needed a bit of cash but no place of her own, and I sure as hell wasn't bringing her home. She suggested the park, and I just agreed. That's it. We finished our business, I pay her, I'm walking to my car when I trip over that girl you got with you now."

He glared at the two detectives opposite him.

"Wasn't anything more to it. Can I go now?"

Danny held his stare. "We're gonna need a statement to corroborate that story, Mr. Moretti. You think you can find that girl of yours and get her to come tell us this ain't all just some big yarn you're spinning for us?"

- - - - - - - - - -

"Ms. Paulina Alvarez?" The young lady looked up at the man standing by the open door.

"I'm Detective Taylor. Could I interrupt for a moment?"

There was a short silence before she bent down to the little girl standing next to her. "Great job, Caitlin. Go on back to your seat. Now, when I come back in," she addressed the class, "I will be asking you to tell me which you thought was the best story of those you've just heard, and why. So take this opportunity to think about that, all right?"

Out in the hallway, she closed the door behind her.

"I can't tell you more about Natalie, detective. I wish I could."

"Ms. Alvarez," Mac ducked his head slightly, "we, uh, found Natalie's body early this morning."

It was a good minute or so before she stammered out, "S-she's dead?"

"Yes," he felt like he was treading on glass, "yes, she is."

"Natalie?"

"We need all the information we can get, Ms. Alvarez. Do you remember anything from that day?"

"I, uh-" she collected herself, "Amelia came down with a stomach flu just that day. I was so caught up with contacting her parents, I must've lost track of my other girls. I thought she'd gone home. Next day, Mrs. Eisner tells me Natalie was reported missing."

His brow furrowed deeper. "What about Natalie's friends?"

- - - - - - - - - -

"You're a real policeman?" The little one was studying him intently.

"Yeah. Yeah I am, sweetheart," Mac smiled as the round eyes grew wider. "I'm a crime scene investigator."

"Oh." She pondered the severe-sounding phrase, then stuck out a small hand. "I'm Danielle."

His hand engulfed hers as he shook it. "I'm Mac."

Their smiles flashed almost simultaneously.

"Danielle, I want to ask you about your friend, Natalie."

"Okay."

"You two were good friends?"

"Uh huh. Best friends." Then her face turned down in a small frown. "She hasn't come to school for a long time."

"Well, uh… can you remember when you last saw her?"

"Thursday." Danielle shrugged and pouted, "She didn't wait for me. I dropped my music file when we were walking out but she didn't wait for me."

"So you picked up your music file, but after that you didn't see where Natalie went."

"No. She wasn't in front of me anymore."

"Did you see her in a car, or with someone? Did she leave with someone?"

Danielle shook her head.

"Were there many people around?"

"Kinda." She was watching him closely again, the frown back across her forehead. "Mr. Mac? Did something bad happen?"

He stared straight into her brown eyes, not quite sure how he could possibly answer that.

- - - - - - - - - -

Stella was mildly surprised when she walked in to find Flack grappling with the vending machine in the lounge.

"It's a cranky old thing," she informed him as she rinsed her mug in the sink. "You gotta work some TLC on it, get into its good graces."

"I'd as soon attack it with a sledgehammer." Flack slapped a palm at the coin-hole, then banged on the glass and tried rather unsuccessfully to shake the whole thing.

"Damn it." He turned around to face her, resigned to having been robbed of his money by the machine. "Hey Stella."

She grinned. "Hello to you too. What brings you down here at this hour?"

"That little girl we found this morning? Parents are coming down to ID the body."

"There's another one?" She looked up from the coffee machine.

"She makes two. It's starting to look like we're two steps behind some sick paedophilic serial killer here."

Stella frowned, not liking the sound of that.

"You've gotten any leads yet?"

"Mac'd love it if we had, but no."

His mobile beeped. He flipped it open, read off the screen, and let out a sigh.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The shriek nearly sent Adam off his chair and he, along with the whole office, looked up in reaction at the two people who came barreling through the door that led from the morgue.

"You bastard, you let this happen!" The wife struck out with a hard right, catching her husband right on the jaw and knocked him back into Flack. "You did this!"

"Mrs. Goldberg!" Mac neatly ducked a flailing left and caught her arm before she could land her elbow on his face. Danny took a stiletto to the thigh when he tried to step in between the couple.

"Mrs. Goldberg," Mac raised his voice over her screamed insults and Danny's pained, if only loudly muttered, curses, "this is not helping anything or anyone. You have to calm down."

"You killed her!" She tried to lunge at her husband again, only to have Stella fly in from behind and grabbed her other arm. "Bastard! You killed her... Oh God…"

She suddenly sagged sideways, trembling violently. Reaching out blindly, she latched onto the nearest person and clung on for dear life. It took Stella several bewildered seconds before she got her arms to finally reach around the sobbing woman.

"God, why? She was just a baby…she was my baby…"

Stella responded by merely tightening her grip.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Danny rolled up his pant leg past his knee and took a look at the circular bruise forming nicely on his lower thigh.

"Hurt like a bitch," he grumbled, looking slightly aggrieved. From Lindsay came a short laugh, to which he just scowled. She bent closer to examine it.

"You'll live. It hardly broke the skin."

"Well aren't you just Miss Sympathy today…" He stopped short when he saw Mac approaching. Lindsay quickly removed her hand from his leg and straightened up.

"Where's the wife?"

Danny gestured over his shoulder. "Stella's got her, Mac. What about Mr. Goldberg?"

"Not too good either. Beating himself up pretty bad over what happened to his daughter. He's been having some woman on the side for a couple of years and went up to her place before he was to pick Natalie up. Seems like if he hadn't been cheating on his wife and got to the school on time that day, his girl might still be alive." Mac's upper lip curled slightly at that.

"Ouch. That's karma biting you on the ass right there."

"So Mrs. Goldberg's convinced it's his fault?" Lindsay shook her head sadly. "It must be terrible for him, knowing his affair indirectly caused his daughter's death."

The frown became a look of pain as Mac turned to face away from them.

"Well," his voice dropped low, controlled and rough, "you never appreciate what you have till it's taken from you."

**TBC**

Request:

If anyone knows what the proper name is for the room where the next of kin IDs a victim's body… 'Viewing room' was the best I could come up with.

_(Ah, morgue. So it is. Cheers.)_


	4. 19th November

His flashlight scanned the small body lying motionless by the riverbank, the olive skin paler in the glare of the white light. Even with discoloured bruises, she still looked as if she could be merely sleeping, if not for the dull eyes and missing pulse.

"Number three on a Sunday," Danny groaned as he crouched down, looking tired and ill at ease. "Think this is that Ferreira girl we saw on the news last week?"

Mac frowned, teeth working his lower lip. "Could very well be."

"So. We definitely got a serial?"

"We definitely got a serial."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Drowning. Plain, straightforward COD. Drowning. Or was drowned. By someone. Simple as keeping her head submerged in a tub."

Mac leaned his weight against the table and watched the ME put the last few stitches into the Y-incision.

"Water in her lungs tested for minimal turbidity and low mineral concentrations. Presence of chlorine, fluorine, phosphorus and sodium hydroxide means it's tap water, I'm afraid. Nothing rare."

"Any household in New York City, right."

"On another note," Sid indicated to the wrists, "rope marks."

"Same as the previous girl's?"

"No. Different material this time – different size, different burn. But probably for the same purpose of immobilization. Oh, and no traces of jelly on this one."

"But we're still looking at the same killer?"

Hammerback hemmed and hawed a little. "I suppose. The methods vary, but not vastly. He's very controlled, knows how he wants it and how to do it. Can't imagine a reason for it, though…" The flinch was barely noticeable.

"You got something off the rape kit this time?"

He shook his head. "Still negative for the perp's DNA. Spermacide is a yes though. Seems like he used lubricated for this one. I wonder why."

Mac sidestepped the last comment. "Send a sample to the lab. I'll get Lindsay to track down the manufacturer, see if that leads us anywhere."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"Size 10 and size 11," Adam announced triumphantly. Danny grimaced in mock disappointment.

"As in the sizes of 60 per cent of the adult male population?"

"And…" Adam shot an annoyed look – he wasn't finished, "I've extracted the top print and mapped out the ridge patterns on the computer. It's a rough sketch, but it gives us some idea of what we're looking at."

He ushered Danny over to the screen, where he rotated the print to a level view.

"Size 10's the top print. See where the depression doesn't fully cover the bottom, which is the 11."

Fingers rapped the keyboard and he opened up an isolated view of the size 10 print.

"Blurred ridges at the heel area; that's an overlap. But the front…." He zoomed in on the upper half, "is a flat sole. Those peripheral patterns belong to the bottom print."

"A rubber sole?"

"Like jazz shoes, or climbing ones, perhaps. I'd be more sure about a split sole, but the rain's managed to wash mud into our print so I'm getting all sorts of erratic depression points."

"But size 10? The prints from Morningside were a size 11… That can't be right."

"Maybe, maybe not." Adam stood up and they returned to the table. "Alright, this one's Morningside's. Size 11 tracks; weight heavily placed on the heels means 't was some load he was carrying. Now, if I don't get a match off number three on this, then I think we're looking at a very, very clever man."

Danny glanced at him, puzzled.

"Why d'you say that?"

"He may be switching shoes to throw us off track. That size 10 could very well be your perp's. You always buy a size or two smaller for dance or climbing shoes."

The baffled look turned into an impish smile.

"Didn't know you knew so much about dance."

"Wha-" Adam spluttered. "No, no. My cousin, my cousin took dance. I was in Drum Corps."

- - - - - - - - - -

Lindsay felt a terrible neck ache coming over her by the time she stepped into Mac's office, but at least the five hours of staring into the scope had ended in a conclusive find.

She held a cord over a full-size photograph of the marks found on the Hispanic girl. "Double braided rope line, known as kernmantle. The exterior sheath is made of woven nylon fibres – comparatively smooth to other ropes, and elastic, which may explain the rather minimal abrasive wounds around the wrists."

"That or she didn't dare to fight back. You said kernmantle?" Mac picked up the cable, intrigued. "Was this from a parachute cord?"

"It's from a yacht docking line. The threads are closer together since this is static rope."

"He's switched from knitting yarn to a boat line?" The frown pinched skin around his eyes.

"Don't ask me, Mac. I just report what I find."

They were interrupted when Danny entered the office with nary a knock.

"Moretti's girl escort? She just gave her statement. That gives Moretti an alibi, and leaves us with nothing."

Mac crossed out the last two names on his wall – Moretti and Ron Anatolakis. The latter was the Ferreiras' gardener until a fortnight ago when the contract was terminated on a sour note. That lead though, even Mac admitted, was a grasp at straws given a distinct lack of perceivable motive. Losing a part-time job rarely turned into a murder spree directed at eight year olds.

"Plus, his entire extended family came forward to vouch that he was busy helping them with non-stop wedding preparations the past week," Lindsay reminded him.

"Huh. We will never again see the likes of such chaos," Danny added, remembering when the Anatolakis clan flooded the office the previous day with loud clothes and even louder Greek. Stella had been most amused.

"Alright," Mac said after a lengthy pause, "we go back to concentrating on the evidence. Compile what we have and what we know, run through every statement taken, spell out the similarities and differences between each of the cases. Rely on evidence; don't make any assumptions about anything."

**TBC.**


	5. 21st November

Lindsay stared at the stacks of files in front of her. One of the few days she didn't go home, she had spent the entire Wednesday plowing through case notes into early Thursday morning, tabulating prints, fibres, measurements and autopsy findings. It gave her a clearer picture of what they had so far, but hardly enlightening in a search for motives or solid leads.

"What's going on?" She muttered at the top file, as if expecting an answer.

By way of reply, Mac knocked and walked in. She knew he stayed through the night like she did.

"It's all here, I think," she said and handed him a neatly collated pile.

"Uh huh, thanks." He looked her over with his usual concern. "Take a couple of hours off, Lindsay. There's nothing more I need right now."

"You should too, Mac. You're just as burnt out as the rest of us."

His mobile buzzed. He answered it, praying it wasn't what he thought it was.

"Messer's on his way down," Flack's voice warped slightly with static, "Randalls Island Park."

"Go on, Lindsay," Mac dismissed her after he hung up, "Danny and I'll take this one."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

A siren wail sounded in the distance, louder first, then fainter. From where Danny stood, the fourth crime scene in a week, he could make out the flashes of red as a patrol car sped along the Triborough Bridge that stretched overhead, grey metal against a clouded sky.

"I keep thinking this is some terrible nightmare, that maybe if I pinch myself hard enough, I might just wake up."

"Don't count on it, Messer," Flack leaned against his car door and propped an elbow up, ignoring the evil eye Danny was giving him. "We ain't lucky enough for that."

"Danny." Mac stood by the tape, waiting.

"Off you get." Flack slapped him encouragingly on the shoulder. With a sigh, he picked up his kit and prepared to get to work.

- - - - - - - - - -

Hawkes looked up from his file in time to see Danny escort the Perraults from the office.

"4 vics in a week?" He asked when Danny returned.

"Yeah. This is one hell of a case," Danny rubbed at his six-o'clock shadow, hating feeling as overwhelmed as he did now. "The rate the girls keep turning up…"

"It's big. The mayor's office sent out a notice on the news last night warning parents about keeping tabs on their kids' whereabouts."

"I heard. The Perraults saw that broadcast too. Must've been hoping they weren't gonna be in that statistic. And then 8 hours later we call to tell them we got their little girl."

A sympathetic wince crossed Hawkes' face.

"How did it go?"

"Eh, I didn't get a thigh puncture this time," he offered, trying for humor but feeling too solemn to put in much effort.

"Good thing, that."

"Yeah." He gave a short laugh, then exhaled loudly. Hawkes watched as his face darkened.

"We're stretched, man." He just needed to admit that to someone at the moment. "The bodies are coming too fast with too little evidence. Damned most thorough rapist I've ever met. Can't make up his mind either – his method keeps getting tweaked and modified, who knows what the hell he's trying to get at."

"Maybe he's just playing you guys."

"Oh, sweet." Danny leaned back against the wall, exhaled again, and shook his head to clear his depressed musings. "How are you and Stella keeping up?"

"Work never stops. Bridge jumper turned out to have been a manslaughter case, which was all fine and good until our guy gets stabbed to death along with his sister. Now we've got the makings of a gang war on our hands."

"Big case for you too huh." Danny manages a genuine smirk.

"Same old, same old. We'd help if we could, but our cups runneth over."

Danny nodded in agreement.

"Fill me till I want no more." The hymn line was painted with sarcasm.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The white marks on Mac's glass walls were increasing by the day, Danny noted as he stepped into the office.

"I don't know," he heard Mac sigh into the phone, "it could be, we're looking into every possible avenue. No, sir. We're doing our best. Yes, sir."

When Mac ended the call, he looked visibly drained.

"Yeah, Danny?"

"Sid's done. The marks on our vic's neck look like they come from being strangled with a garden hose. He probably wrapped the hose around her several times and shut off her airway. The resulting cerebral hypoxia did irreversible damage."

Mac moved over to one of his walls and traced a line of white as he listened to Danny's report.

"So, we have concrete dust, a strand of cotton, tap water, and now a garden hose." He drummed fingers on the glass. "Petroleum jelly on some of the bodies. Same perp, different methods?"

"He rapes them, kills by suffocation, then dumps them along some road," Danny joins him at his wall. "Has to be the same guy. I mean, the attention to detail, the near-nothing of evidence he leaves behind, choice of victims –"

"All girls, between seven and nine. Families are upper middle-class, their kids go to good schools, but they disappeared one day and no one saw anything. The media is gonna have a field day with this."

Danny eyed him suspiciously. "Who were you on the phone with?"

"Captain Cragen, Special Victims."

"When did they get involved?"

"When the daughter of a civil court judge goes missing; Laura Winston's daughter didn't come home from school today and nobody knows where she is."

"And she-?"

"Just turned nine."

"Ah… shit…"

- - - - - - - - - - -

The folder lay open on his desk, the bottom right corner dog-eared under his arm. She peered over his left shoulder and scanned his scribbling in the yellow of his table light.

"Angela May Winston."

Mac jerked awake at the sound of her voice and almost sent the papers over the edge of his table.

"Morning."

"Morning." He looked out his office as his right hand massaged blood back into his left arm. "Where's Danny?"

"It's half-past six, Mac. He's not in yet."

"No… right. Of course."

"You didn't go home again."

He hastily cleared his desk and shuffled papers together. "Special Victims is chasing us to come up with any leads, and we got none. None yet – everyone we interviewed thus far had a solid alibi."

Stella's concern didn't escape him, and he swiveled to face her.

"It's not their fault, Stell. The parents, the media, hell, the whole legal arena's breathing down their necks. I mean, 4 victims so far and we're no closer than when we first started?"

He paced up to his wall again, scanning the white words furiously for any links, no matter how tenuous. Stella gave him the space he needed to blow off steam.

"It has to be connected. These four girls, they have to be connected somehow."

"Talk it out? I've got time." She knew what made him tick, but it took him a while to come to and respond.

"I don't know, Stella," He sat back at his table. "We're getting evidence in, but we're not getting to who could possibly be doing this. The families don't know each other, none have received overt threats; but yet their kids go missing and we find them dead every day or so and…" he trailed off and shrugged helplessly. "Why?"

She cupped a hand over his tight grip on the armrest.

"Look over the 'how' again, Mac. You always told us to follow the evidence. The 'how' and the 'what' will lead you to the 'who' eventually. And when you get your 'who', well, then you can to ask him 'why'. "

- - - - - - - - - - -

A/N:

Really don't know how Don Cragen managed to pop his head in this, but... he did. I suppose it'd make sense that the Special Victims Squad gets involved given the nature of the cases, especially if they are becoming more high profile by the chapter. That being said, this will not become a CSI/SVU cross-over – the Captain's just a cameo role. Though I'd love to see Stella go head to head with Olivia Benson, just to see how that turns out.


	6. 22nd November

_A/N:_

_- To the real Angela May: _

_Augh! How weird must that be? Man, now I feel bad, and obligated to let them find her alive but… err, we'll see how it goes. Your last name wouldn't happen to be Winston too, would it? _

_- To everyone else:_

_Thanks for all reviews, guys. Much, much appreciate them. _

- - - - - - - - - - -

"Lady, we sell these to thousands of people. Building companies buy them in bulk, the FDNY, rescue workers, you name it."

The young man held up the PMI 10mm Classic Static Rope.

"Could I take a look at your customer list?"

He handed a clipboard to Lindsay, who scanned through the list of names.

"I don't want any trouble, Miss. I just sell them like they tell me to."

She quirked a ghost of a smile. "Don't worry, I'm just gonna need a copy of this."

- - - - - - - - - - -

"That's Mad Rock's Flash you're probably lookin' at." The girl at the counter peered at the print photograph, then rummaged through her store and brought out a size 10 sample.

"Hooker heel, raised fibre midsole," she placed the shoe sole up next to the photograph, "one of the few with regular uppersole surfaces. It's a good climbing shoe."

"You sell this often?"

"Couple dozen a year. The Sport Center at Chelsea is the bigger store."

Lindsay ran a hand over the Flash sole.

"Alright, let's have a look at the customer list…"

She exited EMS onto 20 West 61st with a shoe bag tucked under one arm, and had to balance her file on her arm to answer her mobile.

"Not again, Danny. You gotta be kidding me. We just got one yesterday!"

"Sorry, Montana. Looks like number 5's another Wednesday's child."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Danny came hurtling down the corridor and almost collided with Stella along the way.

"Hey, hey, where's the fire, Messer?"

"Hi Stella. Mac in his office?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Thanks." He rounded the corner at breakneck speed and disappeared, leaving a bemused Stella in his wake.

"Mac." He burst through the doors and proudly set the small clear bag in front of his boss, who picked it up and held it against the light.

"An eyelash?"

"Off our number 5 – She's black? This belongs to a blonde."

"Get it down to DNA; find the owner and bring him in."

"You got it."

- - - - - - - - - - -

"Stanley Williams," Flack glanced at the man opposite him. "That your name?"

"Yeah."

"Stanley Charles Williams, born 4th June 1960. Residing in South Bronx. Says here you're a plumber by profession."

"Yeah."

"And… also, two years ago, you were charged with assaulting your now ex-wife." Flack paused. "Know anything about that?"

"Yeah."

Flack and Danny exchanged looks. Danny leaned forward.

"Know anything about how your eyelash got caught underneath a dead girl's fingernails?"

The middle-aged man stared at them. "No."

Danny produced a picture of the black girl. "Never seen her before?"

"No."

"One of your plumbing jobs, maybe? You must get around to dozens of houses, guy in your line of work. She could've been in any one of those."

"No."

"Reads to me like, maybe you like little girls, yeah? You've seen her on a job, so maybe you trail her to school, wait for the opportune moment when the bell goes and then you nab her?"

"No."

"Ok maybe not you then. Maybe someone you know who likes this sort of thing – you trying to cover for someone, Stanley?"

"No."

"Hey, you keep up your monosyllables and I might just charge you with obstruction of justice," Flack threatened, getting impatient.

"I don't know anything about any dead girl." Two sets of green eyes clashed.

"Look at the picture again, Mr. Williams."

"I told you, I don't know any-"

"Look at her!" Flack rounded the table and slammed a fist on the photograph. "She's eight years old and she's dead. She was beaten, she was raped, and now her body's lying in the morgue under a plastic sheet. If you're withholding anything from us, I swear I'll make sure you do maximum time when we finally pin you down for accessory to murder!"

"I didn't kill her!"

"Then tell us who did!"

Stanley gaped, mouth moving silently, blinking rapidly, his face now red and flustered.

"Flack," Danny motioned to the door and they stepped out.

"I think he knows something."

"He doesn't fit the killer's profile."

"No, but he looks like he can give us something to go on."

"I'll get Mac down here, see if he can wheedle any more out of this guy."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"Mr. Williams, I'm Detective Taylor."

"I already answered all the questions, detective," the man was slumped in his chair, sullen and tired, "I even got yelled at by your cop friend over there in the process."

He looked so affronted by the incident that Mac had to hide a sudden smile as he rubbed his chin. Flack merely snorted derisively and shifted his weight against the wall.

"Mr. Williams, these are the five girls we've found so far," he laid out the snapshots in a neat row, "all of them killed, we can confidently assume, by the same person. Now, in the light of this, what are we supposed to think when we find an eyelash on our latest victim that belongs to you?"

"I told you, I didn't do it."

"Evidence doesn't put you in a favourable position to say that," Flack offered from his corner, and was rewarded with a glower. Mac refocused Stanley's attention by tapping on the first picture, Katherine Clarke.

"We found cement dust in her throat." He went on down the line.

_Tap. _"Yellow cotton fibre between her teeth from a pillow case."

_Tap. _"Water in her lungs."

_Tap._ "Marks around her neck made by a garden hose."

_Tap. _"Her we found with a plastic bag wrapped over her head."

Stanley frowned at the first picture. "You said cement dust?"

Flack was bending over the table in a flash. "What about it?"

"Across the street from my place, there's an abandoned building project…"

**TBC**


	7. 23rd November

The car pulled up along 147th and Brook, headlights steaming in the early morning dark. The half-completed structure stood before them near the junction, forlorn and dusting grey when the wind swept by.

"Think we can get that warrant to search the guy's place?"

"They're handling it down at the precinct as we speak." Mac knelt down and bagged a sample of dust as Danny scanned his dim surroundings with a flashlight.

"Hmph. They must've ran out of funds pretty quick. 'S hardly any more than a skeleton structure here."

He moved further in, Maglite sweeping brightly at his feet as dust swirls rose gray-gold and gravel crunched beneath his boots. Then suddenly, the moving white arc caught a brown speck. He got down on his knees and peered at the droplet, which looked more maroon than brown on closer inspection.

"I think I got blood here." Mac was beside him in no time, kit opened and prepped. The blue-lit luminol confirmed it. He collected the dried blood on a swab.

"We won't know till we run it, but this may start looking like our primary crime scene if we find a blood trail."

"Prayers answered, Mac," Danny called from several feet to his left. "Blood smears."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"Good news," Danny announced when he found Lindsay in the lab.

"I got bad news, so why don't you go first."

"Okay. We got the primary crime scene for our first vic. Found her blood at a construction site in the South Bronx area. The dust sample we took? The aggregates in it match that which was found her mouth."

"Great. My turn - the DA can't give us the search warrant."

Danny's good mood deflated in record time. "Why not?"

"Lack of evidence. The eyelash wasn't enough. They said that alone was not evidence of Williams ever having made contact with the victim; much less killing her. He's South Bronx, her family lives on Upper West Side - they're a good ways away."

She watched his green eyes darken behind his glasses. "They have a point, Danny. It could've been any sort of passive transfer. It's too much to link him to the murder on one lash and nothing else."

"Yeah, I know. Will they be persuaded with the blood that we found at exactly where he mentioned when we questioned him?"

"I don't know, I can't answer that."

"Huh," he chewed on his bottom lip, frowning. "What about if we just paid Stanley an informal visit, just to ask him about this and that?"

"Clear it with Mac, Danny. Remember the last time he hauled your ass in when you went snooping around without his go-ahead?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Mr. Williams, you'll be glad to know we found blood at the construction site."

"Uh huh," Stanley eyed Flack warily from behind the chain.

"Your tip led us right to the primary crime scene of our first vic. You sure you don't know anything about this, Stan?"

His gaze shifted to Danny. "No."

"There he goes with his monosyllables again."

Danny shot a half-grin at Flack. "May we come in?"

Stanley slammed the door shut, caught them by surprise when he opened it wide a second later.

"Look, I don't know anything about this. I really don't."

He tailed them unhappily as they looked around the apartment. Danny took note of the rather obvious state of disarray the place was in. A phone rang from somewhere in the kitchen, and Stanley went in to answer it.

"Now I'm even more convinced this ain't our guy." Danny shook his head, grimacing "Look at this dump. That pizza box there moved when I stepped near it, I swear."

Flack rounded the couch and spied a pen and a small notebook that had fallen down open-faced on the floor.

"Messer, might have something here."

Danny crouched down, and using his pen, he carefully flipped through the pages and found dozens of clients' names and addresses in looping cursive strokes. He stayed pensive for a long while before his eyes lit up.

"Flack" he breathed, "I think I got it."

- - - - - - - - - - -

Mac thumbed the notebook and nodded in agreement, producing a smug grin on Danny's face.

"You might be on to something here."

"I was thinking, maybe that's how Stan's eyelash got transferred onto the Ridley girl. He works at some place, goes off, then the guy brings in the kid to his newly-fixed apartment where she scrapes the floor and ends up with his lash under her nails. Passive transfer. It fits, I mean, if you saw the place, Mac - Stan's not our guy."

Mac observed his detective's mounting excitement and instinctively moved to temper it with a neutral analysis.

"Back it with evidence when it comes, Danny. Look through that list and see who can be eliminated. Absence of fresh tyre tracks would seem to indicate he walked to the site to commit the crime, so go with those who live within approximately a five-block radius of the building."

"Then we eliminate the ladies? The old couples?"

"One step at a time, Danny. This still doesn't clear Williams, so we keep pushing him, see what more he can tell us or remember until we're through with his clients list. Right now, pen and paper would be of most help."

Danny ran off and returned with a copier box full of paper and some markers.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"How much does a plumber in a week?"

Lindsay eyed him warily from where he was at the door.

"Is this one of your terrible jokes again?"

"Hey, I was serious." Danny put his marker down.

"Quite a bit, I'm sure." Now deemed safe to approach, she settled herself down on a chair on the opposite side of the lounge table. "Most people would have need of him. If you're willing to travel and work odd hours, it must pay well."

"This guy works for half of New York, from the looks of it."

"What have you got so far?"

"The Bronx residents number about fifty-nine. Guys' come up to twenty. All we need to do now is look for a guy who fits our profile." 

"Young, good physical condition, not married, no kids…" Lindsay nodded. They had been over that more time than she cared to remember. "I can run your names against the customer list I took from EMS and the Racenstein Co. if that helps things any."

"Knock yourself out," he said, and slid the sheaf of paper over to her.

**TBC**


	8. 25th November

"Police are still searching for the man responsible for the recent spate of murders that as of today has claimed the lives of five young girls."

"As of now, there are no leads as to the identity of the killer, who has thus far managed to elude investigators-"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to comment on that. But we are doing our best to bring this to an end as soon as possible."

"Speculation is rife amongst the general public as to who could be behind these heinous acts-"

"I've stopped my daughter from going to school. It sounds crazy but that's keeping her safe till this maniac is behind bars, I'm doing it."

"If anyone has any information, we ask them to come forward; any information at all. We are appealing to the people of New York City, for the sake of these girls, to help us catch the perpertrator-"

- - - - - - - - - - -

The phone rang. He winced as the dull ache flashed into a sharp pain down his skull as he reached over to pick it up.

"Mac Taylor."

"Detective Taylor, please hold for the deputy commissioner."

The sharp pain didn't go away.

"Detective?"

"Commissioner," he shook his head and it flared worse, "we're doing the best we can. My people are barely coping with the workload as it is. With all due respect, sir, we can't drop every case just to focus on this one."

The man cleared his throat on the other end. "I understand that, Taylor. But this is a matter of great concern to everyone. Anybody's child is a target now: A former city councilor, a Wall Street financial analyst… Mr. Perrault sits on the board of directors for Columbia University, as does Mr. Mendez for the New York Public Library. The mayor's daughter may be next for all we know."

Mac closed his eyes. "She's nineteen, sir. She doesn't fit the profile."

"Taylor," he was obviously going to ignore that slight breach of decorum, "this man is not going to stop out of a sudden development of a conscience. We need to end this madness. Put everyone you can spare on this."

"And what about the other cases that may come in?"

"Suspend new investigations if need be. This is top priority."

Mac bristled at the order, but bore it down stoically.

"Yes, sir."

When the click on the other end sounded, he sat back, steepled his fingers, and impassively regarded his table lamp.

- - - - - - - - - - -

"No luck, Danny," Lindsay told him when they met in the hallway, "The only names corresponding to my list is some fitness instructress, Ms. Cartwright, and Rob Wendall, who's just gotten back from a week-long convention in Atlanta – his wife was with him."

"Not having much luck with mine either, from the ten I've gone through anyhow." He saw Stella approaching, and called to her.

"Gimme a sec, Danny," Stella said as she passed by, breaking into a jog. "Mac!"

Half out the office door, Mac looked up from a new case file to see her bearing straight down at him.

"Why is Hawkes off my team?" She kept her vexation just below simmering.

"I need that extra pair of eyes," he held the file slightly between them. "It's gone straight to the top, Stella, this case... I just got off the phone with the commissioner. He wants this on highest priority."

"Oh," she set her jaw – out of the corner of her eye, she spied Danny and Lindsay making a move away. "I suppose that means the other murders and assaults out there are to be disregarded until this has been solved then."

"I'm not suspending your investigation, Stella. I've put Adam with you to hold the fort till Hawkes gets back to where he left off."

"Damn it, Mac!" She near hurled her ballistics report at him. "It's not about holding the fort! Adam's a lab tech, not a field man. I need Hawkes to speed things along. I've got two groups of Harlem kids going at each other and I'm getting bodies and near-fatalities almost every day, just like you. But they're not on high priority, are they? Neutrality has gone out the window because some rich couples have all the strings to pull to get the top brass to cease all investigations, except that which concerns them."

His eyes flashed suddenly, dangerously. "That's not fair, Stella. You saw how it was. Their daughters were brutalised and murdered – they deserve closure."

She met his gaze, spark for spark. "And the Harlem boys, Mac? Every time we get close to prosecuting a perp, he ends up dead. Why are we putting their families on second-class when they're going through the same thing as your Goldbergs and Ridleys?"

"You think I want it to be like this? Do you really think that?" He snapped back. Taking a deep breath, he looked aside as he reined himself in. "My guy needs to be stopped. We got to find him and stop him, and I need all the help I can get. The commissioner's already on my case, Stella, I don't need you to be too."

She studied him, knew that look of tired frustration when she saw it, and dropped her righteous indignation back a few paces.

"Fine. But you tell them I said they can take their equality-for-all politicking and shove it up their hypocritical ass."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The car screeched to a halt and two frantic individuals came running out.

"Jennifer!"

"Sir, I'm sorry, this is a crime scene," Flack extended his arms sideways, "Ma'am, please, step back."

"Is that my daughter? Is that my daughter?" Eleanor Forbes almost collapsed into hysterics when she saw the two CSIs duck under the tape and come towards her.

"Is that Jennifer?" She reached out and grabbed Mac's sleeve while Flack and his partner tried to restrain them. He stopped dead in his tracks and tried to look her in the eye when he said it.

"Tell me it's not her. It can't be…"

"Ma'am, I'm very sorry-"

Her hand connected sharply, loudly, with his cheek.

"Whoa!" Flack grabbed her by the wrists. "Mrs. Forbes, that's assaulting a police officer right there."

"Leave her, Flack," Mac gingerly probed a sore cheekbone. "It's alright."

He stood watching as the officers herded them back to their car. He didn't move until Lindsay touched him gently on the elbow and brought him back around.

"I can take the evidence back to the lab if you want."

"Detective Taylor?" A bald man wearing a brown overcoat interrupted his reply to Lindsay.

"Captain," they shook hands briefly. He nodded to Lindsay, who took the cue and the samples back to the car.

"We've had some recent developments regarding this case. If we can get more off Jennifer Forbes' body – hopefully we'll catch this guy before number 7 turns up."

"That's what we're all hoping for. You'll keep me informed?"

"Certainly."

Cragen nodded, then gestured to the reddening mark spreading across the side of his face. "Been a bad day for the CSU."

Mac watched Lindsay reverse out from between two patrol cars and rev up the engine.

"Been a bad day for everyone, sir."

**TBC**

A/N:  
Cragen's back – second cameo and absolutely not a cross-over. Really.  
I'm getting quite swamped by the case and I'll say again: Credits to the CSI writers. It must be massive trying to juggle scientific jargon with plausible (mostly) storylines and consistent characterization – feels like it anyhow. So, hope I've not detracted too much in this chapter. I know Stella was nice and empathetic in other chapters, but it just felt so her to be irritated when she perceives an injustice being carried out, especially in her lab. The pride in her work is half about solving the case, but pragmatic as she is, I think the human element does get to her as well.


	9. 26th November

_Author's Apology:_

_Terribly sorry this took so long. Fresher orientation was a real rush and I apologize again for the extended delay. Thank you for your patience. Here's chapter 9, finally. Cheers._

Danny was stooped near the flattened area of earth, shining his flashlight around, eyes scanning hard for telltale evidence.

"It's the usual, Mac. No signs of a struggle, no blood."

Behind him, grass blades and dried leaves rustled beneath boots in an erratic tempo as the officers combed the area in a line.

"I bet the foliage is just killing those guys," he jerked a thumb behind him. "Our guy could've picked a more convenient spot – Harlem Meer, of all places."

"It's their job, Danny, leave them to it. They may get something."

"Well, wish them luck. We sure don't got much. The usual partials, yeah, but not much else."

"We look again," Mac flicked on his own Maglite, "We keep looking. I'm not sitting around to wait for the seventh kid to show up. Lindsay, get a sample."

- - - - - - - - - -

Hawkes strapped on his gloves.

"Alright, Sid, fill me in."

"Jennifer Forbes, age eight and a half."

Hawkes winced when Hammerback uncovered the body and indicated at the livid bruising with his pinky. The neck looked oddly bent at the front

"No points for guessing cause of death. Suffocation; someone strangled her with enough force to break her hyoid bone. The compression of the upper airway led to asphyxia – classic air choke. Crushed her larynx in the process too."

"Ah."

Sid glanced at him, as if expecting more. Hawkes returned the look.

"Nasty."

"Indeed." Hammerback rounded the table. "The bruise pattern's interesting though. It's not your average finger shapes wrapped from front or back. The regular bruising looks to mean he strangled her with a bar, or anything cylindrical. All the way across her throat right here."

Hawkes frowned when he leaned forward to look at her neck.  
"Front or back attack?"

"I checked for bruises on other parts. She's got a couple around her stomach. I'd say front – pinned her down and shoved the bar against her throat, dug his knee in for traction..."

Sid rolled up his pant leg and tried to get his leg up onto table, but Hawkes stopped him before he tore something.

"I'll get pictures of those, Sid. Run it to the lab for comparisons."

"Bruising on the back of her neck too," he rolled down the cloth back over his shoe, "I've seen that happen when a guy gets himself into a bar arm chokehold."

"That's law enforcement technique. Or could he be military?"

"He could be anything, with his irregular kill methods. I've also found a white paint crust on her body – that's a new one. I'll send the results when I get them. Oh, and I'd better give you this before you go."

He handed an evidence bag to Hawkes, who studied the bag against the light.

"Got another one of these off this girl – in her nasal cavity this time. Hopefully it'd catch us a child murderer."

Hawkes merely nodded, staring at another blonde eyelash.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Jennifer Forbes, she's our latest." Flack paced around the seated man, watching him closely. "Strangled to death."

"Don't know any Jennifer Forbes." His eye quirked left, and Flack latched on.

"You know what they say about giveaways you look out for, to tell the liars from the genuine ones? The eyes, shifting to the left. Apparently, it's an involuntary movement when the person accesses the part of the brain responsible for imagination and fabrication."

The guy shifted again, in his seat this time.

"And about fidgeting as a sign of nervousness associated with giving false statements? Sweating too," he added when the man wiped his palm on his jeans.

"Don't know any Jennifer Forbes."

Flack stooped in front of him, wryly shaking his head.

"Why do I not believe you?"

- - - - - - - - - - -

"Mr. Moretti, we meet again."

"Would you believe the luck I'm having," The man lifted his eyes heavenward. "What did I do to deserve to go through this again?"

"What did I do to deserve to see you again?" Danny didn't bother hiding his smirk again. "You know a Stanley Williams?"

"He's my plumber. Last time I called him was just after my wife delivered. You can go ask him if you want."

"Nah, I'm good. So, you known him long?"

"Colleague at work introduced him to me few years ago. He does the job fine, so I give him my business and he fixes my pipe problems."

"Alright. What about Jennifer Forbes?"

"Don't know her, just like I don't know that other girl you dragged me in here to ask me about… Is that all? I have to go. My wife's gonna want to know why I've been home late so often."

"Tell her the truth: half the time you're at the station, and half the time in Morningside."

The glare would've melted ice, but Danny was unfazed.

"It's the best policy, Mr Moretti. Works at home as well as it works here. You sure you don't know the girl? Maybe you're better at faces."

"I don't need a picture!" He stood up abruptly. "And I don't need a punk like you throwing smartass remarks at me either."

"Sit down, Mr. Moretti, we're not done yet." Mac closed the door behind him.

Moretti heaved a frustrated sigh and flopped onto the chair, cursing under his breath. Mac nodded to Danny, who slowly unclenched his jaw and arched his back straight. Mac pulled up a chair and took a seat.

"We'll take it from the top."

_- - - - - - - - - - - _

"Heard Mac rescued you from Moretti."

"Save it, Flack." Danny's usual good humor had dissipated by day's end, having spent the afternoon eliminating suspects. "I don't suppose you got anything off your guy either?"

"He's clean. Absolute bundle of nerves, but clean."

"Damn it."

"Keep at it, Messer. You've still got four more to work through – get to it. I'm gonna be getting coffee."

"Yeah," he mumbled, still analyzing his CODIS files when Flack left. Absorbed in the profiles, he hardly reacted when Lindsay took her usual spot opposite him.

"Hey."

"Mm."

"Trace found sand in the soil sample I bagged. We ran it through the system. It matches the dust that you and Mac got off that construction site." 

He looked up briefly. "That still don't give us shit."

A shadow flickered over her face, but she steadied her voice. "We also found tyre tracks a short ways in from the road. 205mm treads and 16 inch rims on new wheels. I'm still running the prints. You want to swap?"

She braced herself for a curt reply and dismissal, and was rather surprised when Danny closed his folder with a flat snap.

"Ah, why not?"

She half-grinned as he passed her the files, and opened to where he tagged the profile page. Then her smile dropped, and her eyes went wide.

"Danny."

"Yeah," he stopped, halfway towards the door.

"These- these are the contacts you got off from the address book?"

"Yeah…" he took a few steps forward, perturbed, "What's wrong, Montana?"

"Edward Saul." She sat back, rather stunned. "That's the guy I spoke to in Racenstein."

"You've sure this is him?"

"I…" she looked around helplessly. "Yeah. I asked him about the PMI rope. He seemed real nice. I… it can't be him, do you think?"

Danny just shrugged.

**TBC**


	10. 27th November

Hawkes scanned the chemical report Sid had come to hand over.

"Sodium hypochlorite. Chlorine bleach."

Sid nodded. "Which leaves terrible yellow stains on spandex."

Humor chased incredulity across Hawkes' face before he settled for a bemused grin. "You would know. And?"

"It's Comet bleach disinfectant cleanser. He uses it rather intensively. I looked through the reports on the other victims – three of them showed signs of olfactory epithelial inflammation on post-mortem; the respiratory irritation was consistent with being exposed to bleach in close proximity."

"Damned most thorough rapist," Hawkes remembered Danny's comment.

"He's not using them on the bodies. Disinfects his floor probably, after he's finished… with the girls."

The two men looked at each other and saw mirrored abhorrence and sadness.

"I'll take this up to Mac." Hawkes tucked the file under his arm.

"Yeah. Tell him I said good luck."

- - - - - - - - - - -

"Eddie? Don't know him very well. He's been here couple of weeks, but Rene says he's just left yesterday for some other job."

Danny and Lindsay exchanged looks, suspicion growing in their stomachs.

"Did Edward say where he was going?"

"Nope. Didn't tell none of us, not even Rene. Just upped and left."

"What was he like?" Lindsay asked, rather, if morbidly, curious. "Normal average guy? Anything strange you picked up on him?"

"Sorry," the guy shrugged. "Like I said, didn't really know him. But he seemed normal enough when I meet him. What do you wanna see him for anyway?"

"Police investigation." Danny stopped there. The guy raised his hands.

"Alright, yeah, confidentiality. I get it."  
"Is there anyone else who might know him better? Someone he's with more often?"

"Naw… he's rather quiet, bit of a loner. Never seen him come or leave with anyone. Others say he's not much of a talker too."

"And you said you are-?"

"Lincoln."

"We'll be in touch, Lincoln."

Danny ushered Lindsay out the door, then flipped open his cell phone to call Mac.

"He probably knows we've caught onto him." Lindsay shoved her hands deep in her coat pockets, hunching her shoulders around the gust of cold.

"We might not be too late. Maybe we can catch him at – Hey Mac. He's left the store. Resigned. Uh huh, yeah. Yeah, got it."

Lindsay watched silently as he struggled with the file and his mobile.

"Yeah, yeah that's the one. Alright."

Danny slid his phone into his back pocket and headed towards the car. Lindsay trailed behind him. They got into the car and he was about to start the engine when he turned to regard Lindsay.

"You okay?"

She shook her head and brushed her hair back. "He was right in front of me. We could've got him there and then… I could've. I mean; I don't know why I didn't see it."

"You couldn't have, Linds. No one would've guessed. He covered his tracks, just like he did before. It ain't your fault. Ain't nobody's but his that those girls are dead."

They were halfway down the street when she finally found her reply.

"Doesn't mean I won't stop beating myself up over it."

- - - - - - - - -

Mac pulled up five minutes behind Danny, Hawkes riding shotgun. The apartment block didn't look too shoddy; a poorer neighbourhood still kept well and running.

"We haven't got a warrant," Lindsay observed quietly when they arrived at the unit. The three of them turned to Mac, who calmly stepped forward and rapped hard on the door.

"Edward Saul?" They waited in silence.

"Edward Saul, open up please, this is the NYPD."

A minute or two passed before he tried again.

"Can we cite exigent circumstances?" Danny whispered to Hawkes.

"I doubt it. It only exists for urgent situations that require immediate intervention and he's not coming out the door with a gun."

"Not yet anyway-"

"You looking for Ed Saul?"

They spun around to face a plump man tailed by an elderly lady in a headscarf.

"Yes we are. Would you know where he is?"

The man stared at the gold badge.

"NYPD?"

"Crime scene unit." Mac let the man take his badge for closer inspection.

"A-right. We get bogus cops around here some time - " he was cut off by a sharp rattle of Serbian from behind. "Excuse me. There's water leaking from his floor into her living room. He must've busted that pipe again."

The landlord unlocked the door to reveal a spartan home with spotless tile flooring. Mac scanned the room, eyebrow raised.

"This guy's insane," Danny muttered, rather awed at how uninhabited the place looked. "An absolute neat freak. Hypochondriac even.

"Not all neat freaks are insane, Danny."

"Didn't mean to include you, Sheldon."

The landlord came huffing back to them from the bathroom, tracking wet prints over the tiles.

"His pipe's burst again. We'll have to call that Williams plumber in." He turned helplessly to answer the grumbling lady in slow English, as the CSIs continued to visually survey the room for incriminating evidence.

"Sir, we need to look around the place. We have reason to believe Mr. Saul may be involved in a crime we're investigating." Mac mentally crossed his fingers, hoping for a go-ahead sans the warrant. He knew full well a defense team could nullify the evidence if officers didn't follow procedure, setting a known criminal free. Even a landlord's permission occasionally lacked clout and set the prosecution back badly.

"Yeah yeah. Go ahead." The shorter man nodded, face flushed. "I've not been harbouring some homicidal lunatic in here; if that's what you're thinking, you're wrong. Take what you need. Half of it's my furnishings anyway."

- - - - - - - - -

They bagged whatever they could find. Human hair, yellow bed sheets, a stamp lost under the bed. Lindsay was lifting prints off the bedside windowsill when Hawkes yelled an exclamation from the kitchen that had everyone running out.

"He is insane!"

"Told you," came Danny's reply.

Hawkes pulled open the kitchen cabinets, and Lindsay caught sight of rows and rows of Comet cleaning products lining the shelves.

"I think we're getting closer to solving this case." Mac contemplated the shelves. He reached over to an open bottle and swiped at a droplet of bleach.

"Still wet. He can't be gone long then."

"Must've just cleared out of here fast."

"Danny, Hawkes, take your kits down to the garbage disposal area. If he really thinks we're on to him, he might've disposed of something in a hurry that might be of use to us."

The two men gathered their kits double-time and went straight out the door.

"Lindsay?" Mac looked over to his youngest detective.

"I'm fine, Mac. Really."

"Alright," he understood how she felt; now was no time for mollycoddling. "Get those prints labeled, then check on to the bathroom where Danny left off. I'll be out here."

"Sure thing."

Minutes later, his mobile rang, and he swiftly put it to his ear.

"Climbing shoes, Mac! We had to dig a couple of piles down, but I think we got this guy this time."

"Nice work. We'll meet you downstairs."

"Yeah, alright."

His mobile buzzed again less than a minute later.

"Mac? You got anything on your side?"

"We're in Edward Saul's apartment. This looks to be a promising lead. What's the matter, Flack?"

"Ah…" Flack paused for an awkward moment. "This Saul guy? If he's really the murderer, well, you've missed him by a bit. We got a call twenty minutes ago. Number seven's shown up. It's Angela Winston."

Mac leaned his head against a wall and took a deep breath. And another.

"Mac?"

"Get Special Victims. Ask them to wrangle out an arrest warrant for Ed Saul. We'll have the evidence ready ASAP for them if they need it. I'll send Lindsay over to the precinct right away."

**TBC **


	11. 28th November

_A/N: Sincerest apologies. Again. One never thinks college would be this busy. But it is; insanely so. Aye, and so after 2.5 weeks, here's the update on the story. Sorry again for the delay, and thank you all so much for your patience._

"It's a matching print if I ever saw one."

Hawkes looked up as Danny waved the printed sheet in front of his face.

"The climbing shoes we found?"

"Mad Rock's Flash. Just what the girl told Lindsay. The left shoe matches our print close enough."

Hawkes leaned back for a short stretch. "I'm still running tests for my fibre dye composition. Should get it within the hour – between this case and Stella's, the lab's swamped. That strand we got off our vic matched my sample, but Mac wanted to be doubly sure."

"Don't blame him. Gotta help Special Victims best we can." Danny bounced back on his heels, one hand shoved in his coat pocket. "He's probably still down in the morgue with Sid. He's been there the whole morning now."

"Angela Winston."

Messer blew out a sigh. "Our number 7."

"Sheldon," Jane Parsons entered, a large stack of files cradled in her arm, and with deft balancing, swiped a folder from the bottom and handed it to Hawkes before Danny could open his mouth to offer assistance.

"Got yours back quick as I could. Thanks but no thanks, Danny. I can handle myself just fine." She patted his still-outstretched hand as she passed him on the way out.

Hawkes hid a smirk, then flipped through the pages, finger tracing the small printed words.

"It's a match, isn't it?" Danny asked after a moment's silence

"It is. Reactive dye," Hawkes hopped off his stool. "Let's get these to Mac."

Danny was already holding the door open.

"Lead on."

- - - - - - - - - - - 

Sid watched him closely as he returned the organs to the small abdominal cavity. Mac had been unusually quiet, merely listening in to his nattering into his handheld voice recorder the whole time.

"You keep bringing in bodies like this and you'll have a very depressed ME on your hands."

"I keep bringing in bodies like this, and I'm depressed already." Arms crossed at his chest, he didn't even attempt a smile.

"Yeah, well, it's a straightforward MO, just how you saw it." Hammerback bent over the body to push the needle in. "Knife wound stretching from one corner of the mandible to the other – sliced her trachea but it was blood loss that killed her from both common carotids."

"Quick death, quick kill. He must've known we were coming for him."

"She wasn't dead long when you found her."

Mac tipped his head back to stretch sore muscles. "No. She bled out in the field. Couldn't have been couple of hours; blood was still fluid."

"She's got evidence all over her, this one," Sid gently closed over the last inch. "Winston, her name?"

"Angela." He ran a hand through his hair, ending it in a grip to the back of his neck. Sid pursed his lips in a contemplative fashion.

"I can send the samples down to Trace if you need to be elsewhere."

"We can do it, no problems," Danny strode in, coat flapping at his calves. "We got the lab results back, just."

"Match, and match, Mac. The court can't ignore evidence like this," Hawkes added, "not in a case like this."

Mac got off from against the table and took the documents. "Warrant's the least of our worries. We'll get him on this, for sure. But the court hearing…" he shook his head darkly, "we have to make damn sure he doesn't ever get to walk free."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Jersey state better let up on their jurisdiction shit with this. I'm so royally pissed off, it's not funny."

"You got me decaf? Who drink lame-ass decaf?"

"Fax just came in, guys! Who's on the Van Holt case?"

"Whatever it is, you say sociopath, I say psychopath, Huang."

Lindsay stared at the off-beat taps of her foot as her ears picked up the blended voices around the office. It had been much quieter when she came in the early morning – now from a vantage point, her conclusion, with everyone around at normal working hours, was that big-city precincts operated at a surprisingly riotous level.

"Hey, that New York kid-killer? You'da think the parents would call the Feds in on it or something."

Lindsay's ears pricked at that snatch of conversation.

"If he's smart, he would've left New York by now."

"Maybe he wants to get caught. Victims all dead, thrill's gone."

"Detective Monroe?"

The captain's voice startled her and her head jerked up in response.

"Captain," she stood to her feet.

"Our DA's working on that warrant of yours. High chance it'll get issued, you can tell your boss."

"Mac's down at the Supreme Court right now with the evidence."

"Yeah, well, we'll get it," his voice dropped low, "don't you worry. We'll get it, and we'll catch this son of a bitch."

She nodded once, stiffly.

"Sir."

- - - - - - - - -

Danny sat down with a coffee mug nestled between his palms.

"The all points bulletin's been issued to the state precincts; city cops are on full alert, copies of photos sent out, everything."

Stella looked up from her cold dinner with a short smile.

"Finally."

"Took us long enough." He breathed into his mug and partially steamed up his glasses.

She stabbed a fork into a potato. "Don't sell yourselves short. Two weeks? They ought to be glad this didn't go into cold case, what with the evidence you had to go on."

"Luck. Nothing but luck. Hell, if Lindsay didn't walk in on Saul the day she did, who know where the fuck we'd be now."

"And where are you _now_, now?"

"DNA samples from the autopsy. Looks like our guy got careless this time. Y'know, I would've thought that the DA's office would need more to go on, but Mac's sorted the warrant out somehow."

"Huh. Strings," Stella murmured into her drink.

"Cynical Stella."

"Astute observer Stella," she caught his grin and returned it. "Pragmatic Stella."

"Nearly-hit-Mac-with-file-report Stella."

Her smile dropped a little and she played with her fork. "We've argued worse before, Danny, don't be so surprised."

"Naw, what? I'm cool with it." He sipped his coffee gingerly. "So, where are you with your case?"

- - - - - - - - - - -

Mac was vainly attempting to tidy his desk when Stella entered his office.

"Hey." She stood by the door.

"Hey Stell." Files and papers were traversing along tall piles that lined the table. "I'm just clearing some stuff up. I'll get off later when I can. Aren't you supposed to be home by now?"

Papers were still being shuffled and stacked as she crossed over to him.

"Hold up a minute, Mac. I need to speak with you a bit."

He stilled, and leaned his weight forward on the table. "Sorry. What was it you wanted?"

"About the case…"

"Yeah, Hawkes will be back on your side come Thursday. I'll get that arranged soon as-"

"Mac." She halted him, and he pursed his lips in the silence that followed. "Not, not that. About the day I called you out on the case. Thought I'd just let you know that I shouldn't've been such a hard-ass then."

Mac looked tiredly amused. "Was that an apology, Bonasera?"

"What if it was?"

"Then I suppose we would have to shake on it." He smiled as he extended his hand. Stella took it in a firm grip.

"So we would. And drinks for another time."

"Indeed." He released his grip and was about to turn back to his desk when his mobile buzzed at his hip.

"Sir. Yes. What? He turned himself in?" He unconsciously raised his voice into the speaker. "When?"

Stella watched, concerned, as he sat down and absorbed the information.

"Right, yes. Yes. Yes, sir, I will."

He disconnected the call, sat back, and stared at the ceiling.

"Saul's at the 13th right now." His voice scratched through the silence that preceded. "Gave himself up apparently after watching the news tonight."

She moved closer until their knees were touching. "You'll be fine."

He buried his face in his hands and laughed quietly. "Yeah."

**TBC  
**


	12. 29th November

"Blood all over the backseat."

Flack leaned near the open window, swept the flashlight around the car interior, and noted the red on beige leather with a grimace.

"Looks like tarp there, on the floor."

"Are we to open the boot, sir?"

The flashlight flicked off. In a few minutes or so, it would be too bright for it to be of use anymore.

"Keep your gloves on, Dobbs, and don't touch anything 'til CSU gets here."

Flack turned away from the car and made a move towards the main doors. One of Cragen's guys was at the top of the stairs to meet him.

"We've processed Edward Saul."

"Has he said anything?" Flack rounded the detective and swung open the door.

"Not since he came in. Walked right up to the Captain's office and identified himself, but not a word since then. "

"His lawyer?"

"Doesn't have one, didn't asked for one," he accompanied the words with a shrug.

Flack paused, his thoughts interrupted by a random realization that the shorter man was not much older than himself.

"How long have you been in Sex Crimes?"

He looked slightly offended. "Special Victims. I transferred a year ago from the 110th."

Flack acknowledged with a nod. "Ever seen anything like this?"

"Can't say I have."

"You shouldn't have to. It's nothing to shout about." Cragen came up from behind them, a file tucked under one arm. "I'll take it from here, Martin."

"Captain." The detective excused himself.

"We've got Huang with him right now." Cragen said as he ushered Flack away from the main hall towards the interrogation room. "So far, nothing."

They stopped by the one-way mirror and observed the one-way conversation on the other side. Flack frowned and bit the inside of his cheek.

"Nothing at all?"

They watched as Huang leaned forward and pushed a piece of paper across the table. Saul merely glanced at it before turning away, a small smile playing along his lips. Cragen sighed.

"None whatsoever."

- - - - - - - - - - -

Danny was honestly expecting to find another body when he cleared the trunk. But black matte rubber?

"Bloody genius."

"I know," the officer behind him shook his head incredulously. "Dobbs said the same thing."

Lindsay emerged from the driver's seat. "What's genius?"

"Neoprene. It's bloody neoprene." Danny suppressed vocalizing the obscenity that rang through his mind. "He's got a whole outfit here, plus leather gloves, head gear..."

"No fibres, no prints." Lindsay caught on. "This sure explains it."

Danny knelt to retrieve the HemaTrace.

"Ten bucks says there's blood on this suit."

"Won't work on me, Danny. You'll have to get that ten off someone easier."

"Too smart for me, Montana."

"Well, while you were busy betting, I've got fingerprints off the steering wheel, blond hair fibers from the tarp," she lifted up a larger bag, "and this."

There was a rather bewildered silence from Danny, who had frozen with the test strip in one hand.

"In his glove compartment," she added.

"A teddy bear?"

"Paddington Bear, actually." The supervising officer offered from where he was standing. Danny and Lindsay exchanged looks.

"Vic's or…?"

"Saul's?" She frowned. "It's anybody's guess."

Danny looked down at the two coloured bands that appeared on the strip. "Right. Well, this's blood, and it's human. Where's Mac?"

"He's still inside."

"Alright, I'll get this back to DNA. There has to be at least Angela Winston's blood on this. Catch you back at the lab."

- - - - - - - - - -

"The public attorney's on his way down."

"It won't make a difference, Captain. He might not talk to him either."

"So what, he waltzes in here, then clams up on us? What is he, mad?"

"Madness is a very misused term."

"Huang..."

The shutters clanged against the door when Mac closed it behind him.

"Captain. What's happening about Saul?"

"He's here, but he's saying nothing,"

Flack blew out a breath. "The defense can plead no contest at the rate this is going. Or not guilty, on his behalf. That's what they're paid to do, isn't it?"

"Evidence doesn't lie." Mac crossed his arms. "Whatever he pleads, he's not getting away. Where does this put us with the charges?"

Cragen sat back in his chair. "We can detain him until arraignment; that's been set for next Monday. But he's not said anything that is even remotely incriminating. He's taken the Miranda rights to the extreme."

"It's nothing to do with rights." The three men turned to the Asian psychologist. "He's not protecting himself from prosecution; he turned himself in. He's ready to be charged, but he still doesn't see his actions as crimes. You saw how pleased he was, Captain. As if he was proud to be in his situation."

"Like, a martyr complex?"

"Pretty much, Detective. From what I saw, there was no remorse or fear. He knows he's wrong in the eyes of the law, but at the same time, he's convinced his actions were justified."

"So," Flack prompted, "why won't he talk?"

Huang smiled. "It's always the 'why?' that's the million dollar question. Honestly, I can't say for sure. Perhaps he's waiting to meet someone whom he thinks operates on the same level as he does, who would understand his motive and reasons."

"Not just the 'how', but the 'why'." Mac shook his head. He disliked the nebulous ambiguity of psychoanalysis, the guesswork of forensic psychology that felt fragile in the absence of hard physical facts. "And you're not that person?"

"I don't make the rules this time, Detective. Saul does. He'll talk when he's ready. Until then..."

"Until then, we keep working on the evidence." Cragen gestured at the CSI.

"Monday's time enough for us to process what we got from his car."

Cragen smiled grimly. "We'll hand him over to you when you're ready."

- - - - - - - - - -

Adam sat back and rubbed his eyes. The lab had been overworked more than usual the past two days. Danny's new pile of evidence sat in front of him, laid out and labeled and waiting to be joined by Lindsay's.

"Adam."

He groaned softly. "Sheldon. More stuff to run through the scopes?"

"You're not very enthusiastic for a forensic lab tech." Hawkes held up two Styrofoam cups.

"There's a conspiracy between Bronx kids and Edward Saul to work me to death."

"That's why you need me for your caffeine boost." Hawkes grinned as Adam got up to get the cup off him. They stepped into the hallway to catch a quick break.

Adam pulled back as the coffee burnt his tongue. "What are you here for?"

"Fingerprint analysis." Hawkes indicated the room behind him. "Knives with blood – got to find out who was holding the handle and who was on the other end."

"Hey Hawkes, "Danny rounded the corner, waving a file. "Adam. Petroleum jelly; leather gloves."

"Petroleum jelly? Leather gloves?"

"Exactly. Bet that's what we'll find when we swab the gloves." He turned to Hawkes. "Get this. Neoprene wetsuit and head gear, leather gloves, climbing shoes: Saul is hell insane, but damn it he knew what he was doing."

Hawkes shook his head in disbelief. "I heard he turned himself in last night."

"For reasons unknown. But Mac says he's standing mute. Not talking to any of the Special Vics detectives, probably won't talk to his attorney either."

"His loss. The evidence ought to be more than sufficient to convict him."

Danny stared, then whistled low. "Now that was straight from the boss' mouth."

**TBC**

_A/N:_

_To all the readers out there – sorry to have kept you waiting a month, and thanks so much for your patience. Hope this would tide you guys over until I get the next chapter up. Thanks again, hope you've enjoyed the story so far, and as usual, constructive criticism is always welcomed. _

_Disclaimer: I profess only layman knowledge of the US legal system, so apologies if there's incorrect information up here in the story. Uhm, SVU characters who keep popping their heads into this story – Property of NBC Still not a cross-over. And if anyone knows whether Neoprene is as untraceable as I made it out to be… Yeah. Cheers. _


	13. 30th November

_**A/N:**__ Long chapter, this one - to make up for the update delay. My thanks to everyone who's reading & reviewing. I'm not sure how much longer this story will go on for, but I foresee it ending soon. Yeah. _

_On another note - Warning: This chapter contains occasional use of profanities. _

- - - - - - - - -

Danny looked up briefly as Mac swung open the lab door and approached him with features unreadable save for the touch of frustration in his eyes.

"Did we get anything back yet?"

"DNA's rushing the results of the blood and hair fibres pulled from Saul's car. So far, Adam's scanned the tyre tracks from Harlem Meer; those matched the front wheels of the car..." Lindsay flipped through her file.

"We found out where the Vaseline came from," Danny offered. "Most inexpensive way to keep leather gloves soft and comfortable."

"It pretty much all links back to Edward Saul, Mac," Lindsay glanced through one of her pages. "The shoes, the gloves and Vaseline, the car…"

"We're still working the Neoprene suit. And there'll be those DNA results – I say we've got more than enough for the jury to convict him." Danny straightened up from his hunched position over the table. "Saul's our guy. No way any lawyer can argue against this pile of stuff we dug up against him."

Mac nodded slowly, in his brain ticking off all possible avenues the defense could use against the evidence. After a long pause, he looked back at his detectives.

"We have until Monday for the arraignment."

Danny looked over at Lindsay, and she nodded her agreement.

"We'll be working overtime."

When Mac left the room with the barest of acknowledgments, Danny spread his hands on either side of their new piece of evidence and snorted wryly.

"Huh. And Mac didn't even notice poor ol' Paddington here."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Flack hesitated in making his entrance; Stella and Mac were opposite each other eating in mutual silence, neither very interested in their food and looking like they hadn't slept well in some while.

"The cops from the 13th are bringing Saul in." He mentioned by way of greeting and sat down next to Stella. "The press is all over this one, Mac. Had to get into the precinct via the back door; it's absolute insanity out there."

"Cragen's guys?"

"Pretty much. Got some men from my side as well, but his people are calling the shots. Had half a mind to dispatch Crowd Control at the station – the front steps were spilling over with people."

"Got your hands full when Saul gets here, then." Stella swiped a carrot off Mac's plate - he barely shifted his gaze – and gestured at Flack with it. "You and the 13th, holding back the hordes of reporters and camera crew."

"And the paparazzi. Nothing surprising. Parasites'd do anything for a quick shot and a fast buck. Half of their stuff's gratuitous, fabricated or exaggerated. How many actually care about the vics, you think?" Flack shook his head in disgust. "It's just part of their jobs to them."

"Just like catching criminals is ours." She got a nod from Flack when he conceded her the point, but Mac was unresponsive until he pushed his plate away and got up.

"Just keep an eye out for trouble, Flack. We don't need a bigger media circus than it already is."

- - - - - - - - - - -

"Hey Danny."

Danny turned at the familiar voice. "Hawkes. Thought you were holed up in the lab past Sunday."

"Doesn't mean I don't eat just because I'm on a big case. Lunchtime's sacred, man. Everyone needs lunchtime."

"Ass." Danny swooped for a seat and settled in, placing the sandwiches and cups on the chair next to him. "I've got 's long as it takes for Trace to get back on samples lifted from Mr. Paddington."

"It's _Mr_. Paddington, now, is it?"

Danny smirked. "Yeah. Lindsay's still up there going over Saul's wetsuit – should be done soon. I'm just here to grab lunch and coffee for us."

"Ah." Hawkes nodded, then feigned innocence as Danny waved a warning finger at him.

The cell phone at his hip suddenly buzzed, seconds before Danny also got a vibrating jolt in his pants' back pocket. They simultaneously reached for their phones snapped open the covers and scanned the screens.

"Lindsay. DNA's back with the blood results."

"Stella's got something off Trace as well."

"Gotta go?"

"Just like you, yeah."

They were out the doors before Danny stopped, spun around, and with a curse marched back in to retrieve the bag of food left momentarily forgotten on the empty seat.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Mac watched from his office as his lab busied around the cases that had been coming in. The B&E in Hudson Heights, the drowning at Rockaway, the dead baby from Hell's Kitchen; the crimes weren't going to stop just because the NYCL had two major cases to crack. New York wasn't that forgiving.

He answered his desk phone after the first ring.

"Taylor."

"Saul's on his way over. ETA 5 minutes."

"Thank you."

He remembered the new files sitting on his desk, staring open-faced and oblivious, merely existing – words on pages, with accompanying photographs, now replaced by other cases that were just as unaware that he had right now (more than) more than enough on his plate

He swiveled to look out his window – far below, he could make out faint red flashes of light and a swarm of little people clogging up the street.

The precinct cops had arrived.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Edward Saul. Born in Milwaukee, raised in Detroit. You moved to New York City when you were eighteen."

Mac glanced up at the younger man across from him; Saul's response was the barest of blinks.

"Your father disappeared a year after your family moved to Detroit– you never knew why. You dropped out of high school at fifteen, got busted for shoplifting that year, and managed to rack up a couple of misdemeanor charges before you upped and left Michigan for New York. You enlisted with the US Navy, but failed to meet the entrance standards, so you've worked odd jobs from then on; gardener, manual labourer, aquarium maintenance, store cashier…"

Mac leaned forward.

"School janitor. We subpoenaed your employment records from the school Natalie Goldberg attended. Working all over the city must have given you ample opportunity to gather your materials and pick out your vics. Is that how you picked them out, the girls? By using jobs as your vantage points?"

The silent man merely blinked again, shifting his head slightly.

"We found hair fibres in your car and on your bedroom floor that match five of our victims. Blood on the wetsuit we pulled from your car was Angela Winston's. The pillow fibres, the bleach – all matched samples taken off the girls. And we conveniently found your climbing shoes in the trash. All the evidence points to you, Saul."

Saul smiled suddenly, then ducked his head.

"You say it with such disdain."

Mac started at the sound of his voice. It was soft, pitched around mid-range, and only just beginning to overlay Detroit with a New Yorker's accent that was oddly posh.

"My failed enlistment…"

"Not many people who fail Naval entrance standards go on to rape and kill seven little girls."

Saul cocked his head slightly, as if trying to make sense of the statement, calmly studying the man in front of him. Mac held his gaze, then fished out the photographs and slapped them down on the table.

"These seven girls. You raped them, you killed them, and dumped them when you were done by a road or in a park or wherever suited your fancy, you sick bastard."

"Marine."

For the second time in the minute, Mac was stopped short.

"Marine." Saul said again slowly, letting the word hang. "Just like that other detective back at the precinct. I saw his ink."

"Why did you do it?"

"Semper Fidelis. That's your motto-"

Mac rose to his feet. "Don't fuck with me, Saul."

"--Always faithful." He regarded the detective impassively. "You wouldn't understand."

Mac sat back down and rested his forearms on the table.

"Try me."

- - - - - - - - - -

Saul smirked.

"Morlock and Eloi. Blue blood and plebeian. You're middle-class, white, American, fighting for king and country or whatever noble ideal you adhere to. You don't fit into either. You just earn what you work for, go home, close your shutters and forget about the world. It doesn't matter – it doesn't involve you."

"So you feel wronged by the class system."

Saul laughed knowingly. "Did they teach you to be such a straight in the Marine Corps? Or was that the NYPD?"

"What's your point, Saul?"

The young man shook his head. "You wouldn't understand. You don't want to. You're just here to show me photographs and evidence – that's what you cops do, maybe hoping I would grovel and weep and confess, so you can put me away and congratulate yourself on a job well done. You don't give a shit about why I did what I did."

Mac exhaled deep.

" 'The 'how' and the 'what' will lead you to the 'who'. And when you get your 'who', then you can to ask him 'why'." Blue eyes flashed dark green when they looked up from above a grim smile. "I have the how, the what, the who. I think I deserve to know the why."

"Made you work for it, did I? All you had were scant traces and sheer luck." His smile faded. "You got lucky - you know it. But you did find me in the end. "

"You covered your tracks. Premeditated kidnap, rape and murder; then removing as much evidence as you possibly could."

"Two weeks was impressive, detective."

"I'm flattered."

"And I heard about poor Stanley."

"He's been cleared." Mac shoved a photograph in Saul's direction. "Tell me."

Saul looked down at the little blonde girl sleeping pale and quiet in the print, the end-stitches of the Y-incision peeking up from the lower edges.

"Jennifer. Lovely girl. You know how they are when they're young - full of life. Her parents didn't see that though. Weren't around for her. It was always the nanny. She'd talk to me when she was lonely sometimes and I'd show her when the tulips were blooming. She was happiest in the garden; hated the house with its grandiose décor and stuffy upkeeps."

Mac clenched his jaw and pushed another photograph forward.

"Natalie?" Saul nodded once. "Mr. Goldberg's little treasure. Was never sure if he loved her or his mistress more. He'd pick Natalie up from school late on Mondays and Thursdays – you'd think he'd keep a closer eye on her. Ah, well, you never appreciate what you have, do you, until it's gone?"

Mac froze. Saul watched him carefully, and leaned forward.

"Is that why you worked so hard to close this case, detective? You know what it's like to experience loss?"

He bit his lip too hard, and tasted blood. "I worked to close this case so people can sleep at night without fearing that some psychopath is out there raping and killing innocent girls."

"They have nothing to fear if they love what they have, and accord it proper respect." Saul lifted his chin. "They didn't appreciate what they had. Why should they keep it? I freed the girls, detective. _For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil._ Hamlet, Act III scene I. Don't look so surprised, detective. Completion of high school was never a good indicator of a person's intelligence."

"So you're their saviour, then? Rescuing them from their miserable lives, and sending them to a better place?"

Saul looked away, smiling patiently. "Is it not miserable to be caught in the cycle of wealth and status? They never have enough, the rich and famous. Always clamouring for more, never content. They were beautiful girls; they shouldn't have to grow up tainted."

Mac closed his eyes briefly. "And the rapes?"

"Not rape, detective. Release. Freedom. Their last moment of bliss before they left this world."

He leapt from his seat, rounded the table and slammed Saul into the steel top.

"You violated them, you fuck." He hissed in his ear. "Don't give me that saviour - freedom crap. You took their innocence when you raped them, and you killed them in cold blood."

"Mac!" Flack rushed in with another officer and hauled him off.

"Someday you'll see, detective." Saul called after him. "I saved them. I saved those girls."

**TBC**

_**Disclaimer and Acknowledgments: **__The Morlock-Eloi reference was stolen off HG Wells, and the social context off 'Ransom'. Hamlet is Shakespeare's. And Saul could seem to have taken lessons off Jigsaw and Lecter. _


	14. 5th December

_A/N: Thanks to all for your patience. Holidays are a real killer to keeping up with the writing, but anyhow here's most probably what is the second last chapter to the story. Thanks everyone who's been reading and reviewing, and sorry to have kept you waiting – 2 months was it? But yes... enjoy. _

_- - - - - - - - - - - - _

"Your Honor, my client would like to plead not guilty by reason of insanity."

"Oh, come on!" Danny yelled in unison with the various voices that arose in indignation.

The judge rapped his gavel sharply, a look of annoyance crossing his features. Lindsay pulled on Danny's sleeve and he sat back down grudgingly.

"That's bull."

"Shut up Danny, or you'll get us both thrown out," Lindsay whispered.

"Hey, just because their plea bargain went nowhere-"

The final slam of the gavel hushed the court room.

"You may proceed."

As the defense lawyer waxed his case, Danny looked around the room; eyes lighting upon familiar faces of the victims' parents, noting the despair and anger intermingled on their faces. His lips drew into a thin line.

Lindsay had to jab him in the ribs when the prosecution called out his name a second time.

"Daniel Messer, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Detective Flack, you were present at Saul's interrogation by Detective Taylor."

"I was."

"And you heard him confess to the murder of the girls?"

"Not in those exact words, no."

"But he did allude to them?"

"Objection, Your Honor, she's leading the witness."

"I'll rephrase." Blue eyes flashed behind glasses. "Detective, what did Saul say that convinced you of his crime?"

"He said he 'saved' them. That by taking their lives, he was in fact saving them."

"Did he say what from?"

"From the world, from their parents," sharp cries were heard from all around, but Flack continued over the noise, "from being contaminated.."

The judge called for the removal of one Mrs. Mendez and struck his gavel twice to settle the rest of the room.

"Civil behaviour is expected at all times in this court room, ladies and gentlemen. I'll not tolerate anything other. Counselor?"

"Nothing further, Your Honor."

"You may step down from the stand, Detective."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Detective Taylor, I understand that the search and seizure of items in my client's house was done prior to obtaining a proper search warrant for the premises."

"We had reason to believe that Saul would attempt to destroy any evidence if he knew he was a suspect in our case."

"But the circumstances were hardly exigent. If I understand correctly from your officers' testimonies, it was mere coincidence that led you to suspect my client, not concrete evidence. On that, you conducted the search and only then did you obtain sufficient evidence for an arrest warrant."

"We had obtained voluntary consent from the landlord to search the apartment."

"But as my client was paying rent at the time, he would be the rightful owner of the property. And he did not give consent for the search."

Mac's glare hardened as the defense lawyer turned to the judge.

"Your Honor, I request that the exclusionary rule be applied to all evidence obtained from my client's residence."

The judge took the longest minute to come to a decision.

"The landlord is the rightful owner. If his consent was voluntary, the evidence stands."

A low rumble went through the crowd. As the defense lawyer took his seat, the prosecutor rose from her seat and passed Mac a slip of paper.

"Detective Taylor, can you tell me what this is?"

"DNA results. From the blood we found in Saul's car and on his wetsuit."

"And what does it show?"

"That the blood is Angela Winston's."

She nodded. "That'll be all, Your Honor."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Lindsay leaned back against the marble wall, and breathed out a sigh. When she opened her eyes, the two boys were walking back towards her awkwardly balancing drinks and jumbo dogs.

"I don't know how you eat this stuff," she half-grumbled as she took one of the five paper-wrapped hotdogs.

"You're a strange one, Linds, 's all," Danny grinned as he deftly unwrapped his. "An all-American girl like you preferring Chinese takeout to hotdog stands."

"Well, there's nothing great about getting the tail-end of the day's supply, that much I can say." She motioned to the man closing up his stall with her still-wrapped 'dog.

As they continued their banter, Flack stepped slightly away and regarded the Roman columns as he bit into the bread. And stopped when he spotted the Goldbergs exiting the main doors.

"Danny."

Danny looked up; saw the Forbes right behind them. "They've postponed the verdict?"

Mac came through the doors next, head bowed as he conversed with Cragen, both their expressions holding the tiniest touch of anxiety.

"The jury needs more time," was Mac's simple explanation.

"Hell, they can't be that dense," Danny breathed, sotto voce. Cragen raised an eyebrow at him nevertheless, and he quickly looked away and took a drink.

"Go on home, people. Trial resumes tomorrow at nine. There's nothing more for us to do here." Cragen lifted his head, nodded at his two detectives who were on the pavement by their car. The taller man waved back, then slid into the passenger seat as his partner started the engine.

"Captain." They each shook his hand firmly. As they parted ways, Flack extended a hand across the group and passed a hotdog to Mac.

"We thought we'd get you something."

"Thanks." Mac's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Need a lift home?"

"I'm alright, Don. Think I'll walk tonight."

"Damn cold, tonight." Danny flung the wrapper into a bin and rubbed his hands together. "I wouldn't walk if someone offered to drive."

Mac merely smiled again.

"So, see you tomorrow?" Lindsay asked when they reached Flack's car.

"Tomorrow at nine."

"Bye, Mac."

They watched his retreating figure disappear round the corner.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Adam stood, stretching sore muscles, and huffed a little when he saw Stella enter the lab.

"Tell me it's over." His lower lip stuck out exaggeratedly.

She laughed and sat down across from him.

"It's over."

"Oh thank the Maker." He collapsed onto his seat and elicited another chuckle from the detective.

"The hearing is in a week's time. Hawkes wants to head down to the bar; we were wondering if you were interested to join us for a drink."

"I'm pretty much done here," Adam shut off his computer and grabbed the files off the table. "I'll meet you there after I've dropped these off at Mac's office."

Stella shook her head and smiled as the young lab tech rushed out, forgetting to turn off the lights. She took a quick walk around, checked all the rooms, then headed downstairs where Hawkes was waiting at the main entrance.

"Drinks on me?"

She nodded appreciatively. "If you're feeling a generous soul tonight."

"You know me; always am, always will be."

"Hey," Adam came up from behind them, struggling to get his coat on, "you guys heard from Mac and the rest yet?"

"They should be done by now," Hawkes added as they started down the street.

Stella pulled out her cell phone. Speed dialed '1', and over the line came a female voice telling her that the mobile number was not in use; please try again later.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

_As always, reviews and constructive criticism are most welcome. _


	15. 6th December Part 1

_A/N: Sorry this took absolutely forever to be updated. Really really sorry. No excuses, I know: Writer's Block ain't even half of it – it's Writer's Procrastination/Distraction/Sloth that kills updates. But here's the second last chapter of the story; last chapter is in the works and will be up soon! (No exact date, but... soon...) So. Enjoy!_

- - - - - - - - - - -

"So, what did I miss earlier this morning? How the bear came into the picture?" Flack had his voice raised over the ambient chatter – most significantly over hefty screeches of laughter emanating from an unknown female source.

Lindsay wiped the foam from her lips. "You mean, Paddington?"

"Yeah."

"We pulled hairs of three different girls from his hat and coat, and kinda' thought it was some sort of last rites for the girls; maybe Saul'd let them cuddle the bear before he killed them."

"But-" Danny jumped in and was immediately hushed by Lindsay.

"But, Saul told the 16th precinct detectives that he'd sit the girls in his car and tucked Paddington next to the body, and imagine they were a family taking a road trip or some city tour before he did the dump jobs."

"Which only gave his lawyer more reason to plead insanity," Danny palmed some of the bar mix, "coz' that sounded pretty nuts to me."

Flack made a face. "Think even some of the guys at Special Vics were creeped out by your boy."

"Can't believe the jury still needs time to consider- 'ey, since when did he become _our_ boy?"

Flack grinned and hid behind his pint. Danny flicked a peanut at him.

"I'd hate to be any one of the parents," Lindsay glumly consulted her glass, running a finger down the handle. "I mean, having to see your daughter dead in the morgue, waiting for the cops and the judicial system to catch up with her killer, then having to wait some more while twelve strangers decide on his guilt. I mean, the agony of waiting…"

She shuddered briefly.

Danny felt the mood cool by several degrees. He pursed his lips, then drained his glass, and called for three more beers.

"Hey, we did good on this one," he leaned towards Lindsay as the bartender placed the mugs down on the counter, "we cracked a big case with half of New York breathing down our necks. We did good."

She offered a grateful smile. "Yeah, we did."

"So, to a job well done, folks." Flack had his hand curled around a new mug; the others followed suit, glass clinking against glass. He finished half his mug, then spun on the seat and clapped Danny on the shoulder.

"Drinks on my friend, Danny Messer!"

"Bloody hell…!"

Lindsay sputtered inhaled beer as the bar crowded around them, then began to laugh when Danny finally caught Flack in a headlock and proceeded to grind a noogie into his taller friend's hair.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Thought I'd find you here."

A small smile flickered across his face, the only indication that he's heard her. Stella sat herself down beside him and he automatically shifted to make room.

"Your cell phone's turned off."

"I know."

She leaned back against the bench and followed his eye-line to the PATH station.

"We've just wrapped up our Bronx case as well. Hearing's still being scheduled, but most of the work's done. Adam's rather relieved."

"Great," he nodded, turning to face her in the dim light. "That's good news."

"I overheard Hawkes on the phone with Danny. Another day in court for you?"

"The jurors need the night to close the verdict."

"That must've caused a courtroom riot."

Mac's lip quirked again as his gaze lowered to his hands. "There were some… unhappy people."

"Comes with the territory," she kept her tone deliberately light, trying to buoy up the moment. "We said we'd go for drinks once this was over."

"We did?" He frowned at her.

"Well, I offered, and I didn't hear you protest."

"Ah, I probably didn't."

"No," she agreed, "you didn't."

They sat for a while in the cold and silence, breath frosting around their faces, New York minutes stretching by.

"Won't be last of this sort." The sudden whisper made her jump in the stillness. She watched his gaze travel down the street and knew his mind saw something other than a deserted road on a dark night.

"All this… is it ever worth it?"

"Yes," her reply was firm, and a little too quick, as she took his hand in hers. "Yes, and no."

His head bowed an unsure acquiescence as their fingers threaded and his tightened through the glove.

"Yes and no."

A flash of headlights had both of them blinking against the sudden glare. The car kept a smooth acceleration as it sped past them. He straightened, and released her hand.

"It's late." The words sounded lame, and he smiled awkwardly, before turning away. "I'll get you a cab -"

"Come home with me, Mac."

He shot her a bemused look, eyebrows raised. She controlled a grin as she read his thoughts.

"Come home with me. At least I'll know where you are. At least I can force you to get some sleep, even if you insist on taking the couch." (like she knew he would)

He stared at her, stared through her, as he contemplated the correct reply to her request before he caught himself, and looked down as he said:

"Alright."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Thanks for the drinks, Danny."

"Nah, don't mention it."

Danny pulled his collar further up and watched as Lindsay fumbled around her bag for her keys.

"I'll be fine. Just up the stairs – don't keep Don waiting."

"He's probably passed out at the wheel."

"Yeah." She grinned at him. "He did look kinda out of it on the way over. Think you'll get home safely?"

"If I'm a no-show for the trial tomorrow..."

Flack stuck his head out the window. "One more veiled insult and you're walking home, Messer."

"Yeah, yeah." Danny flapped a dismissive arm in his direction, but Lindsay saw the growing smirk on his face.

"Go on, Danny. It's cold. I'll manage."

"You sure?"

Lindsay nodded, and in answer pulled her keys from the bag.

"Cool, alright."

From the car, Flack observed - with much amusement - the resultant pregnant silence between the two CSIs. When Danny finally broke it, it was with a affectionate, if rather self-conscious, hug as he said good night to Lindsay, before moving away and fumbling his way into the car.

"You could spend the night here, y'know," he said as his passenger strapped himself in. "Save me a trip."

"Shut it, Flack, and drive."

**TBC**

_2__nd__ note: For anyone who's wondering, I've based. Mac and Stella's characters after their Season 1-early 2 selves. Realised that they've changed a fair bit since then (through S3 particularly), but really liked the S1 portrayal of their relationship, and have tried to pull that in to this story. Now, whether it worked is a whole 'nother kettle of fish … And of course, Lindsay and Danny here are straight from S3, sexual tension and all. )_


	16. 6th December Part 2

_A/N: Final chapter, closing and epilogue. Finally. Had to do several re-writes for the ending; hopefully it does fulfill its purpose and wraps everything up. My thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed; hope you've all enjoyed it._

- - - - - - - - - -

"Stella."

She fumbled sleepily with her duvet and pulled it closer, trying to escape the hand on her shoulder.

"Stella." The voice was still soft, but more insistent this time.

"Mac?" She finally opened one eye. "What time is it?"

When he made no reply, she struggled to sit up and flicked the switch of her bedside lamp.

"Four in the morning?"

He looked suitably sheepish even as he loomed over her bedside, hair and white crewneck rumpled from the night on her couch.

"Sorry," he muttered, "I thought I left a spare set in the other bathroom, but it's been cleared out, and I figured you might have kept them somewhere else-"

"Wait. Hold on, what?" Head still fuzzy from sleep, Stella couldn't quite keep up.

"Toothbrush," he smiled, "soap, razor. I'll be out of your hair as soon as I can."

"It's four o'clock, Mac. Go back to sleep."

"I…can't. Gave up trying. Thought I'd head down to the office, catch up on some paper work."

"At this time?" She stood up. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Somewhat."

"Means no."

He fiddled with her radio clock. "An hour. Two, tops."

She padded over to her wardrobe and fished out the amenities pack with remarkable speed. She tossed it across the room and he caught it with one hand.

"Your insomnia will be the death of me."

"And you wonder why I never get invited for sleepovers."

She caught the barest hint of an impish smile, a glimpse of a younger Mac.

"I'm sorry I woke you."

"Forget it." She rubbed a hand over her face. "Since I'm up, I might as well grab breakfast with you before our court hearings today."

"Mr Wong's?"

She returned his almost-grin. "Isn't it always?"

- - - - - - - - - -

Danny watched the judge initiate the session; the jury settled into their seats, Saul and the two attorneys at their tables. The crowd's murmur died. He felt Lindsay sit straighter next to him and lean forward, turned and caught Mac's eye, saw Flack at the end of the bench clasp his hands in his lap – and he wondered if they were as nervous as he was.

"The jury has reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor."

"Will the defendant please rise?"

The chairs legs screeched against marble as Saul and his lawyer stood to their feet. The judge swiveled his chair to face the box.

"On the seven counts of kidnapping, what is your verdict?"

"Guilty."

"On the seven counts of assault and child abuse, what is your verdict?"

"Guilty."

"On the seven counts of statutory rape, what is your verdict?"

"Guilty."

"On the seven counts of murder in the first degree, what is your verdict?"

The foreman shot a glance around the courtroom. The atmosphere thickened in an instant, and no one quite remembered how to breathe.

"We find the defendant not responsible by reason of mental defect."

- - - - - - - - -

"You know, I used to think that those courtroom dramas on television were just exaggerated for public entertainment."

Flack propped his elbows up with a sigh. Lindsay shot him a sympathetic smile.

"That was one hell of a court scene."

"Damn straight." Danny edged in next to them and likewise leaned against the rails. "Don't blame them either."

"Someone could've gotten killed. Judge Thornley ought to've called the riot police."

"Your boys handled it fine."

"Wrong precinct - not my boys. Still," he stretched a stiff arm, "they got everyone out quick enough."

"At least no one brought in a gun and tried to hold us hostage for a change of Saul's sentence," Lindsay chipped in. Danny and Flack didn't feel any more comforted at the thought.

"I think I saw that in the movie once." Flack mentioned after a pause.

"_Mistrial._ HBO cable tele-movie? Cop holds judge, jury and defendant hostage to change the verdict? Believe me, that did cross my mind."

"You, Messer? Going vigilante?"

"There wasn't no mistrial here. Should've been one, but Jury managed to unanimously decide that our serial in there was insane enough to get off by virtue of a mental defect."

"The doc tested him by ALI standards," Lindsay remembered. "At the witness stand, he testified that Saul did, by the MPC, fit the definition of insane."

"And his mother did have a history of depression," Flack added helpfully.

"How do you go from depressed to a killer with a god complex who fancies little girls?"

Lindsay saw a lone figure heading towards them.

"Hey, heads' up. Mac's here."

The three of them got off the railing as Mac walked up, flexing his right hand slightly and grimacing.

"That went almost as badly as Hinckley's 1981 acquittal."

"Only because Saul ain't in love with Jodie Foster."

Mac smiled grimly, noting that at least Danny hadn't totally lost his sense of humor in the course of the case.

"You alright, boss?"

"Yeah," he curled his fingers, "just got my hand slammed against the door. Mr. Goldberg's apologized. Said it was in the heat of the moment."

The cold wind blasted through the pillars and straight at them as they stepped out into the open.

"But the charges of rape, kidnapping and assault will keep Saul behind bars for long enough, right?"

"It's as good as life, Lindsay, but it's the sense of closure the parents wanted. It's what they didn't get. Almost feels like our justice system let him get away with killing their kids." Mac sighed. "Feels like they still lost."

"If they had hurried up and passed the GBMI Bill, we wouldn't be stuck in this mess." Flack pointed out as he struggled to get his gloves on.

"I dunno. That's a lazy sort of verdict in my book," Danny pulled his coat tighter around him, "like they can't make up their mind about the guy they're prosecuting. Guilty is as guilty does, 's all I'm saying."

Mac shook his head. "Whatever it is, that's over now. Case is closed. We move on."

As the younger detectives walked ahead, a beep sounded from his pocket. Mac reached in to answer his cell.

"Detective Taylor."

He looked out onto Foley Square as he listened closely.

"We're on our way." He pocketed the phone and looked up to see the three waiting on the steps for him.

"Stabbing at Rockefeller."

Danny shared a look with Lindsay. "Alright, Montana, you heard the man – we got work to do. 'Nother day, another case."

"That's the spirit, Danny." Mac allowed himself a smile. "That's the spirit."

_Fin_

**Disclaimers and Acknowledgements:**

_- Frontline at pbs, for information of insanity defenses and state laws_

_- TwizTv for a Law and Order script – the template for the verdict pronouncement_

_- I do not know/am not affliated to/do not own HBO telemovies, Jodie Foster and John Hinckley Jr. in any way. Because that would just be way too odd._


End file.
